A Winter Story
by Juliette Louise
Summary: Hero  2002 .  Broken Sword comes seeking solace and learning at a calligraphy school, and instead finds the woman who would shape his destiny.  Driving Rain accepts a student, and finds a quest.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a story based upon Hero, the 2002 Chinese film. Hero was the first wuxia movie I'd ever seen, and it's still my favorite. This is a slightly AU retelling of the meeting of Flying Snow and Broken Sword. I would be so grateful if you would review after reading, if only to tell me that I'm not the only person on this site who enjoyed this movie! _

* * *

><p>The winter solstice was only just behind us when Broken Sword first appeared in my tale.<p>

At Shanxi Enclave we go to our rest at nightfall (so early in winter), and rise before the dawn- the better to save our precious candles. So it came as a surprise to me when I found myself awake, suddenly, in the still midnight.

The freezing air had that special stillness that only came in the deepest darkness, in the coldest of midwinters. The beating wings of a dove could have woken me in that silence, so of course unfamiliar footsteps in the hallway did as well.

I did not hear the visitor's step, which was, I imagine, what startled me out of my rest. Scribes do not walk so silently. I heard only the air move past him, over him. Then, the tiniest papery scratching of the dormitory door sliding open, then closing again.

I could hear him pulling off his robes, like a moth fluttering powdery wings. The straw pallet crinkled under his weight, and then he let out a long, slow breath.

I heard a history in that sigh: long, shivering nights under the cold stars, blowing frosty plumes of breath to add to descending snowflakes. Days in the mountains and forests, choosing whether to run or fight. In that breath I heard that our little Enclave (with its straw pallets and its frozen washbasins) was a much needed respite.

* * *

><p>Then I slept again.<p>

At dawn, I rose, pulling on my cold robes. I broke the thin surface of ice on the basin and washed and scrubbed my face. I meditated until the sky (I knew) began to turn deepest purple at the horizon.

By the time I had had congee and tea with the other Masters, a pale golden sun had risen. Then we moved to our desks and resumed last night's tasks: grinding pigments and mixing ink, stretching canvas and finishing parchment, and of course, making our art.

I ladled fresh water into my inkwell, checked my brushes, and continued my script. It was a difficult piece, and because it was one of my first as a Master myself, my concentration was complete.

I didn't think again upon the visitor whose movements I'd overheard until I noticed that Master Cascading was not among us, in his customary place at the head of the room.

At that moment, the divider slid open softly, and our Master entered. Twelve heads looked up, and we greeted him in unison. Cascading nodded, and I noticed that he wasn't alone.

The man behind him was taller by a head, but lean, even in draping robes. His hair was long and loose, totally unornamented, falling to his waist. As he entered the room, closing the divider behind him, I noticed the sharp lines of his face, just on this side of harshness. He had a neat, close-cropped goatee and simple white robes.

Master Cascading cleared his throat, as though our attention could have possibly been on anything other than the front of the room.

"Masters. My students. There is a guest among us. I present Broken Sword of Zheng. He is a Master in his own right."

The one I now knew as Broken Sword cast his eyes downward demurely and nodded deeply to us, his hands in his sleeves. We nodded again in unison and he slid onto the floor beside Master Cascading, sitting on his heels.

Even that simple movement was marked with the grace and economy of movement of a warrior. He put his hands on his knees and I saw the calluses on his knuckles, and over them a criss-crossing network of thin scars.

I realized with a start that his gaze was on me, and my eyes flicked up, meeting his abruptly. Despite the violence betrayed by his hands, he had very gentle eyes. At that moment, they held the barest hint of amusement.

Then Cascading spoke, pulling my attention away from Broken Sword. I could feel a blush rising.

"Broken Sword has come seeking an apprenticeship to one of the Shanxi Masters. He has no coin, but your old Master entreats his students to consider him regardless."

There was a muttering a surprise from the assembly. It _was_ a highly unusual moment. There were only two ways into the Enclave: to be chosen an accepted by a Master as their Apprentice (as I had been), and to pay a large sum of money for the privilege. The former was much rarer, and the only way to become a calligrapher at our school. The latter was more usual, and generally occurred when wealthy parents wanted to send their children away to study for a few years.

There was a pregnant pause in the room before Master Cascading spoke again.

"He is a personal friend of mine, and has much worldliness and knowledge."

Broken Sword sat calmly, motionless. The set of his jaw and the posture of his body spoke of nothing but serenity and quiet confidence. He didn't set his eyes upon me again.

"I have a proposition, if Master Cascading Water and Broken Sword will hear me." I said, nodding over my desk.

"We will hear you, Mistress Driving Rain." Cascading said, gesturing at me to speak. The long sleeve of his robe flowed with the movement.

"I will teach Broken Sword my art and perhaps he will share his with me." I said quietly. At that, Broken Sword's eyes fell upon me, and his full lips moved into a tiny, lopsided smile.

"And to which art do you refer, Mistress Rain?" Cascading asked neutrally.

"The art of the sword, Master." I responded quietly.

Cascading only nodded, but I thought I detected a little surprise in his face.

"What say you, Broken Sword?" He asked, turning to his companion.

"I am honored to accept." Broken Sword said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deeper than I had expected, but very smooth and quiet. He bowed deeply to me, then to Master Cascading.

"Very well." Cascading said lightly, then began inspecting his brushes.

* * *

><p>I finished my final commission just as it was time to share our midday meal. I finished my congee quickly then put on my outer robes and boots: I was in the habit of walking around the grounds when the sun was highest and warmest.<p>

My boots crunched on new snow, sinking in to the ankle. Overhead, however, it was a very clear, bright day. Sparrows flitted about overhead, the doves that always roosted (despite our efforts) in our awnings and rafters cooed. I was squinting against the glare of the sun on snow, wondering what had become of my new apprentice, when Broken Sword fell silently into step beside me.

"Mistress Driving Rain." He said, bowing deeply, hands in his sleeves. Again, I was surprised by the timbre of his voice, not to mention the soundlessness of his step, even in the snow.

"Master Broken Sword." I said, returning the gesture. We walked out into the clearing together, blowing plumes of frosty breath before us. I found myself unable to look directly into his gaze, or even directly at him.

There was something otherworldly about the man. He radiated an almost preternatural calm. His every movement spoke of grace and power, but his manner was quiet and modest.

"Mistress Driving Rain is very perceptive." He said at last, and there was that same gentle amusement in his voice. "I could have been a Master poet or a philosopher. An artist with words or music."

I smiled despite myself.

"Please call me Rain, if you would. And no poet has calluses on his sword hand and a dozen scars across his knuckles." I said.

I didn't mention the sigh I heard in last night's still darkness, from the dormitory on the other side of my thin wall. The life I heard in that one exhaled breath. Or the fact that he was just slightly spare, his face just slightly weathered. The disciplined way he moved.

Broken Sword just smiled softly.

"As I said, you are very perceptive." He replied.

* * *

><p>Broken Sword sat on his heels at my left all afternoon, grinding pigments with a mortar and pestle, then carefully blending them with almond oil and water to form ink. It was the first lesson an apprentice learned, and I couldn't help but smile to see a grown man learning as I once had as a tiny child.<p>

I didn't speak except to issue instructions, and he didn't speak save occasional questions.

We ate a silent dinner with the Masters, then finally went to practice in the sand wells.

We stood side by side, drawing in the sand in tandem. Broken Sword was a natural, and for a long time we merely drew a simple character ("Lotus"), then smoothed the sand over and began again.

There were many questions circling in my mind, like wheeling hawks in summer. What was a man like Broken Sword _really_ doing in a remote country calligraphy school? How long would his apprenticeship last? It was usual for even a casual student to stay with a Master for at least two years. It seemed unlikely that he would like to be with us for so long.

And what of the other half of my proposition?

"You've done very well, Broken Sword." I said, resetting the sand one last time as the night chimes sounded.

Outside the sun was setting, the diffused glow through the thin walls of our compound was now closer to red than amber. The ambient sounds of the Enclave were dimming as well as we put away our supplies and swept stray sand back into the wells.

Broken Sword replaced our styluses in their customary corner, then bowed deeply to me for perhaps the third or fourth time that day. I smiled behind my hand.

"Thank you, Mistress Driving Rain." He said solemnly.

I found myself casting my eyes downward. It didn't seem quite correct that someone such as Broken Sword would defer to me.

"Again, please call me Rain, Broken Sword." I said.

He only sank onto the ground, sitting on his heels, his hands falling open in his lap.

"I believe I will stay and meditate awhile. Is there a large, open area in the Enclave? Somewhere quiet?" He said, pointedly _not_ assenting to use my informal name.

I considered.

"The east library is quite large, and not often used."

Broken Sword nodded.

"Then I'll see you there at dawn tomorrow." He said with a little smile.

So he had remembered! I thought.

Feeling a tiny thrill of excitement and nervousness travel through me, I nodded.

"Rest well, Broken Sword."

"Thank you, Mistress Driving Rain. You, as well."

I turned and left the room before he could see the color in my cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Driving Rain first entered my tale just after the winter solstice, when the days were shortest, and the wind coldest.

I had traveled through Zheng Province and into Shanxi on foot, through the deepest woods and over the harshest terrain, the better to avoid detection. The King's trackers were skilled, but I spent my entire youth wandering these woods and mountains, and we had only a few run-ins in as many months.

But there was a price to be paid for stealth: in this case, I was traveling with virtually no supplies. I had only the robes I wore and my weapon. I slept under boughs and bridges, and ate only intermittently. By the time I reached Shanxi Enclave my garments were ragged, and I had nearly forgotten what warm limbs and a full belly were like.

I arrived in the dead of night, a brisk snow falling. As I approached the walls of the Enclave, wondering if I could survive another night without shelter, a panel in the wall opened and Master Cascading Water appeared.

"Master Broken Sword. Good evening." He said, as though my unannounced, nighttime appearance after an absence of years was completely expected.

Cascading showed me to a vacant dormitory in the Masters' quarters, then handed me a lit candle and disappeared wordlessly.

The room was simple but comfortable, with a low pallet for sleeping and a table, on which a bundle of fabric sat. Upon closer inspection, it was new white men's robes, as well as a razor and other toilette.

(I have learned not to try to fathom the source of Cascading Water's precognition.)

I washed my face and shaved carefully by candlelight, then lay on the low palette in total darkness, listening to the pounding of my own heart.

After so long in the wild the silence was deafening. No owls hooted or screeched, no creatures scurried.

Gradually, I became aware of soft breathing sounds, like that of a young woman, so quiet I almost believed I was imagining it. I shifted on my pallet, and realized that the sleeper was alongside me, with only the thin wall separating us.

I listened to her in the dark, matching, as best I could, my breath to hers, letting it carry me away from my constant hunted vigilance and into rest. Finally, I slept.

* * *

><p>After breakfast (and what seemed, at the time, like the finest congee I'd ever eaten), Cascading took me before the Masters.<p>

When Cascading had first invited me to study at his Enclave, I had assumed that I was to study under him personally. He was dismissive of the idea.

"I'm too old and tired for a new student." He'd said, waving one faintly shaking hand.

I sat before them, feeling many hard stares that were confused, even suspicious.

Only one gaze in particular seemed to move over me lightly, gently, only curious, taking me in. I wanted to look up and catch that gaze, to see the eyes that moved over me, but resisted.

"I have a proposition, if Master Cascading Water and Broken Sword will hear me." She said. Her voice was quiet, her tone respectful but not timid. She saw no reason to fear me, as the others did. I knew then it was her gaze that held me.

"I will teach Broken Sword my art and perhaps he will share his with me." She said then, causing me to look up at her, involuntarily, in surprise.

Our eyes caught. Driving Rain held my gaze evenly, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. I realized that she was echoing mine, which only made my expression broader. She looked away then, nodding at the words (I realized) Cascading was speaking. As her gaze left mine, I realized that my heart was hammering in my chest, but not, for once, from fear.

* * *

><p>Despite her youth, Driving Rain was an experienced and knowledgeable teacher, and I was eager to learn. I had traveled a long way to study with the Shanxi Masters, and I was not disappointed. She watched patiently as I ground pigments, mixed inks, and finally began to draw, though in the sand wells at first. Her quiet, smoky voice offered only guidance and encouragement. It was an altogether different experience from how I had learned from my last Master.<p>

That night I meditated long into the night, searching, as ever, for peace and stillness. Then I returned to my dormitory, washed my face and hands, and lay restlessly on my pallet, staring past the ceiling and up to the stars.

Again, my ears adjusted to silence just as my eyes adapted to darkness, and again I heard her. Only now, Driving Rain was muttering in her sleep on the other side of the wall, probably in the grip of a nightmare. Mere inches away, my teacher's breath was quick and shallow, punctuated by little gasps and whispered entreaties.

Tension started at the small of my back and crawled up my spine. My jaw clenched. I put a hand on the wall, just beyond which, I knew, she lay.

I wondered if what haunted Driving Rain's dreams was anything like what ruined mine.

* * *

><p>I awoke as light was just creeping toward the horizon, my body feeling the pull of dawn even while surrounded by the walls of the Enclave. I stretched and worked through the katas, then washed my face and dressed.<p>

By the time I found the library, Driving Rain was already there, sitting on her heels by a wall of scrolls. I could see nervousness in the set of her shoulders, but when she looked up at me, her face was calm.

I had carefully restrained myself from noticing the beauty of her face yesterday, surrounded at all times by the bustling activity of the studios. Today, in the silence of the library with nothing to distract me, I was having more difficulty.

"Master Broken Sword." She said, bowing deeply, still on the floor.

I found myself a little unnerved by the show of deference.

"Please stand, Driving Rain." I said, quietly, and she did.

(Rain was quite a few years younger than I, and looked even younger than that. She was taller than most Zhou women, having been spared the endless labor and grinding poverty of the peasant class, but narrow-shouldered and slender. There was an unconscious grace to her, like a dancer. Today, unlike yesterday, her long hair was untied, her white robes very simple. Her feet were bare.)

She gave me a tiny, shy smile, meeting my eyes at last, and my pulse fluttered.

"Shall we begin?" I asked.

* * *

><p>By the end of that day, I was sure that she had learned the arts before, though perhaps long ago. We worked through the first katas, and it was as though her body was remembering them, rather than moving into them for the first time.<p>

I kept my distance, only touching her elbow, tapping her ankle with my bare foot to correct her stance. I struggled to retain my focus, to find inner stillness in the movements I knew so well.

I dismissed Driving Rain at sunset. I wanted to ask who her first Master had been, but didn't. She would tell me if she cared to. We all deserve to hold our secrets.

"Sleep well, Master Broken Sword." She said, bowing again.

I cleared my throat, wishing she would look up at me, that I could see her eyes again.

"Peaceful dreams, Driving Rain." I said.

* * *

><p>But Driving Rain did not sleep peacefully. The sounds she made in her sleep made my jaw tight and my hands ball into fists. I stared up at the ceiling of my doritory every night, feeling her pain move over me like a cold wind.<p>

As the weeks passed, my nights were increasingly devoured by thoughts of going to her, comforting her, but I didn't. She was both my apprentice and my Master. More than that, I was a wanted man. I had been hunted across the province. Only the seeming improbability of an assassin coming to study at a calligraphy school was currently granting me a relative safety.

And yet, my traitorous mind would not let the matter rest. I couldn't ignore her intelligence, her quick wit, the grace and economy of her movements when my student, her patience and generosity as my teacher. I couldn't unsee the beauty of her face, the way her soft hand rested on mine as I learned new characters, her warm breath in my ear.

I thought of all these things as I lay on my cold pallet at night, listening to Driving Rain dream. Then I reminded myself that a woman like her could never love me.


End file.
